


Dead Things

by shelovestoship



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Because I'm mean like that, Childhood Trauma, Dark and troubled past for Higgy, Exhaustion, F/M, Higgins is not Higgins?, Juliet Higgins Whump, Juliet's past, One chapter Christmas fluff, Romance, Santa made me do it, Wait What?, Why do I always give Juliet the most traumatic backstories?, eventually, impossible choices, my babies always get their HEA, partners, tiniest bit of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelovestoship/pseuds/shelovestoship
Summary: Juliet has been having nightmares. It’s starting to take its toll and Magnum is worried.
Relationships: Juliet Higgins & Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV, Juliet Higgins/Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV, Referenced Juliet / Ethan
Comments: 186
Kudos: 218





	1. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I live to traumatize Juliet Higgins apparently...

## ONE

She was small and scared and they were all screaming. Or maybe it just seemed so.

In the end, though, it was just her father’s voice.

“ _Her_ ,” he screamed, “ _her_.”

Then she was floating along in the river, at her grandmother’s. She’d been told not to go swimming there because of the current, but she knew she was strong enough.

Besides, would it really matter if she drowned? 

“ _Her_ ,” his words echoed in her head.

And she saw the blood on the floor.

“ _Her_.”

But it hadn’t been her. 

That had been the cruelest part of it all.

* * *

She woke up and for the longest moment, she felt like she still was the five-year-old, whose whole world had changed with one word.

* * *

“Okay, what’s going on?” Magnum asked her. “That’s the third time you nodded off this week.”

They were on a stakeout, in one of the petrol devouring SUVs. Why had she never noticed that every single car Robin owned was a gas-guzzler, as the American's would put it? Because she’d always used Robin’s Nest expense card to keep them fueled up. 

Now she noticed. And she was going to have to up their expenses bill to their client. Who, fortunately for once, was a wealthy one. A tech guy who thought his wife was cheating on him with her yoga instructor. 

The evidence so far was not super compelling, all they had was the guy’s superstition. But the wife had been in yoga study for over two hours now...

“Pardon me for not finding this as fascinating as you do,” she said, covering her mouth to hide a yawn. 

“The good doctor keeping you up at night?” he asked, in what she thought he meant to be a teasing tone. Only it came out rather flatly, almost harsh.

“No,” she said, a little irritated. Which she felt was her right with only three hours of sleep and him being snippy. “And if he were, it would be none of your business.”

“That’s not true,” he protested. “I mean, you’re my partner. If you’re not able to have my back-”

“Oh please Magnum, I’m not going to fall asleep during a shoot-out.”

“Just during stakeouts? That’s great. What if I fall asleep too? We might not get the money shot! I thought you were still strapped for cash!”

“How would it be _my_ fault if you fell asleep?“

He sighed. “It wouldn’t but we both know who is the most likely to actually fall asleep during a stakeout, and it’s not you. So what gives?”

“What do you mean?” She looked away, over to the yoga studio’s entrance. 

“I mean, what’s wrong? Why are you not sleeping?” he said and when she opened her mouth to protest he added, “And don’t tell me you are! I’ve been seeing your lights on in the middle of the night for weeks now. Is it running Robin’s Nest? Your birthday coming up?”

“My birthday?” She frowned, because it wasn’t May, then she quickly remembered. How odd, that even after fifteen years she still had trouble remembering it on occasion. “Right.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not throwing you a party,” he said, smiling with his eyes only. She’d gotten very annoyed for trying to get a surprise birthday party set up for her last December, and quickly put a stop to it. “I still think we need to do something though. Like go for dinner.”

“Ethan is taking me out,” she said, even though he wasn’t.

He looked surprised. “You guys’r really getting serious huh?”

“It’s just a day, no different from any other of the year really,” she insisted. 

“Come on, you have to be a little excited,” he said, even though he didn’t sound too thrilled himself. “A man wanting to celebrate your birthday with you. That’s a big deal.”

“It is?” She shook her head because hadn’t he just suggested they should spend her birthday together? It couldn’t be that big a deal. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“Maybe.” They sat in silence for a minute. “You're not going to tell me why you’re having trouble sleeping then?”

She hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t going to tell him of course. She’d never discussed it with anyone. Ever. In fact, she planned to take the events of that night with her to her grave.

But she could tell him something. “I’ve been having some bad dreams. It’s nothing. They’ll stop eventually.”

“Marrocco, Russia or Saudia Arabia?” he asked. All places she’d been station where things had gone to hell during a mission. She was a little surprised he'd figured them out, remembered because it wasn’t like she’d sat down to talk him through them. There had just been hints and little comments she’d dropped through the years.

She debated with herself, then went with the truth. “England.”


	2. For Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be a bit angsty (if you hadn't already realized) but I do sort of have a plot in mind and it shouldn't be too long (which is usually what I say and then I end up with 20+ chapters...)

## TWO

“Its got that fancy french cheese you like on it,” he said, pushing the plate with the grilled cheese towards her. 

“I’m not hungry,” she said, not looking up from the papers - phone records for a client - she was going through.

“You can’t not sleep and not eat at the same time,” he said. “Since you’re still not sleeping, your only choice is to eat the delicious sandwich I made you.”

“I’m sleeping,” she said, but the paleness of her skin and the purple under her eyes - something that not even the carefully placed concealer fully hid - told the truth.

“Like three hours a night?”

“What are you, Magnum, my mother?” she asked, but she did pull the plate with the grilled cheese closer, poking at it tentatively. 

“Seriously, how much sleep are you getting? Because you can’t just keep going without.”

He was worried enough that he’d even started setting his own alarm in the middle of the night so he could go check if her lights were on in the main house. They had been for the past week. Every single night, without fail.

That meant she wasn’t just waking up from her nightmares. She was waking up and turning the lights on. He wasn’t sure what could make her do that but it had to be pretty bad.

When he’d asked what she was dreaming about last week, he’d figured a failed op or another traumatic event to do with her life as a spy. Richard’s death maybe. But she’d said the location was England. As the good detective he was, he’d done just what he’d advised her not to do with Ethan last month. 

He’d investigated. And found exactly _nothing_. 

So little about Juliet Higgins existed on the web, in public records, if he hadn’t known she was a spy, he’d have half suspected she didn’t exist.

“I don’t need much sleep,” she muttered, pushing the plate away and standing. 

“You need more than you’re getting- hey,” he began but when she swayed and had to grab the table not to fall. He stood too. “You gonna pass out?”

She glared at him but she was holding on to the table with both her hands, hard enough to turn her knuckles white, still swaying the slightest bit.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about this dream?” He offered, even though he doubted she’d agree to it. “If not to me then maybe a professional. You could even talk to Ethan.”

That brought a strange smile to her face. “I don’t think we’re quite there.”

Magnum agreed, if she’d said she’d talk to Ethan about her dreams when she wouldn’t share it with him, he’d have been… well hurt.

But at the same time, as long as she talked to someone, he’d be happy. Because he was getting seriously worried. All he really wanted was for her to feel better, be happy, healthy.

For her not to be waking up with nightmares every night.

“Maybe a psychiatrist. Or just a normal doctor. Maybe they could get you some sleeping pills or something.” When she looked like she was going to protest he added, “You need to sleep.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I’ll think about it.” 

Then she looked at his sofa. He waited. 

“Would you mind? Just for a minute.”

“Go ahead,” he said, managing to keep his face perfectly neutral. 

He watched her walk to the sofa, sit down and then slide to the side. Her breathing almost immediately changed. As a soldier, he’d master the skill of sleeping whenever and wherever he could. She clearly had too.

Or she was just too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

Once he was sure she was asleep, he grabbed the phone records and went to sit on the floor right next to the sofa. He wasn’t sure why, he just wanted to be close to her. 

She slept fitfully, then finally seemed to settle down. Only then her breathing changed. From peaceful and relaxed to erratic and borderline hyperventilating. 

“It’s okay,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure she could hear him. “It’s just a dream.”

She’d turned inwards on the sofa, so he gently put a hand between her shoulder blades. His mother had used to rub soothing circles on his back after he’d had a nightmare when he was little. It had always helped him.

Ony, she was still in the middle of her nightmare, not waking up from it. 

He wasn’t sure waking her up was the thing to do though. Being woken up in the middle of a nightmare could be almost as terrifying as remaining in it. And she needed to sleep.

“It’s okay Juliet.” He brushed his fingers along her spine. “Breathe.”

Could people hear you in their dreams?

He didn’t know, but it seemed to work because her breathing went back to almost normal. Dreaming - but maybe not about something terrifying?

He could only hope so. It felt like she was calmer. So maybe he really had helped. Found a way to stop her bad dreams.

Unfortunately having him rub her back while she slept to keep her from having nightmares wasn’t an option. Well, he supposed it was, but he doubted Juliet Higgins was going to agree to regular slumber parties with him just to sleep better.

She might agree to them with Ethan though, he realized and felt his momentary happiness at having found a solution, fading away. 

For now though, for today, he got to be the one that made her feel better. Got to be the one who saved her from whatever demons were plaguing her mind. And right then, that felt like almost enough.


	3. Birthdays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love people who make fan videos (even when they use Taylor Swift songs that are just a tad bit too cheerfully for my taste) and when I find good Miggy videos I just keep re-watching them over and over again and I get super inspired to write!

## -THREE-

Magnum was staring out over the black ocean, drinking beer and pondering life. Only a tiki torch and the faint light of the guest house up on the hill illuminated the beach.

There was no moon. That made it all feel rather ominous. 

It was Higgy’s birthday today.

She’d gone to meet Ethan a little over an hour ago. Probably wouldn’t be coming home at all. Why that made him want to kick the sand and scream at the universe he didn’t want to dwell on.

At least it wasn’t a regular thing. In fact, she’d just looked at him so strangely, when he’d suggested sleeping next to someone - Ethan maybe - would keep the nightmares at bay. 

Actually, she’d taken more naps on his sofa, than she’d spent nights away from Robin’s Nest after dates with the good doctor.

That made him weirdly happy. 

Still, he kept telling himself it was good for her to have a relationship. To get back out there. Dip her toes in. That had been his original hope. He’d figured it’d just get her to relax a little, maybe feel better about opening up. Help her move past, move on, from Richard.

Like a rebound.

That had been naive of him. Probably Juliet Higgin wasn’t the kind of woman who needed a rebound. What if things with Ethan just worked out?

No.

He didn’t want to think about that.

His phone rang, and he couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and happiness at seeing her name on the caller ID.

“Not going well?” he asked cheerily by way of greeting.

“It’s going splendid.” Her voice was musical and excited. If he didn’t know better he’d say she was intoxicated. “I got champagne, scotch and scones. But they really don’t know how to make a proper scone here.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked, because honestly, that was what it sounded like. And with her lack of sleep and lack of appetite lately, it wouldn’t take much alcohol to get her there. 

“Tiny bit maybe,” she said, then hiccuped. 

“Where is Ethan?” He got up off the sand, trying to calculate if the two beers he’d smashed meant he could still drive. Probably not. Maybe he could get TC to come get him. Or he could take an Uber, as annoying as that might be. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m peachy.” He could hear her running a shower or bath and the idea of her in a tiny little robe about to get all wet and soapy momentarily distracted him. “I love that word. _Peachy_.”

“Higgy, where is Ethan? Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, like he was being a bore, when he was just looking out for her. “I’m at the Wika Kia Resort. I didn’t actually have a date with Ethan. I just said so.“

“So you’re spending your birthday, what? Alone in a hotel room?”

“Yup,” she said, then paused. “But not really. We went to the beach on my birthday. Remember, you bought me shaved ice!”

“What?” he asked, a vague memory of earlier in the year, May sometime, when she’d suggested they’d just go to the beach one day. It had been very random for her. And he’d insisted she eat a shaved ice because she’d admitted to never having tried it.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she said, suddenly a bit more serious. “I put Anna Carlson’s paperwork on my desk. So if they call, you tell her we found her granny, okay?”

“I will but-” he started, but she’d already hung up.

Frowning he pondered just what that whole birthday thing was all about.

Surely, she hadn’t lied about her birthday, right?

It was on her passport, her driver’s licenses and even her visa. So it couldn’t be wrong.

Could it?

She had been a spy for over a decade.

Wheels began turning in his head, pondering just what such a thing might mean. Not liking the possible reasons that he kept thinking of. 

If her birthday wasn’t her birthday, did that mean other things he knew about her could be false too? 

He didn’t want to believe that, yet, the detective part of him began to wonder. Why was there so little information about her past? Not even Robin, who knew everything, had a complete folder on her. There were times he'd tried to look up various things - golf competitions she'd won, schools she'd attended and horses she'd owned - and found nothing connected with her name.

Why was that? Was there something she was hiding, something about her past? Something to do with her nightmares even? He remembered the whole _Curiosity killed the cat_ proverb. But didn't that actually end with _but_ _satisfaction brought it back?_

He needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Higgy is kinda inspired by drugged Higgy, which still is the most precious thing ever...


	4. What's In a Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of changing direction, but it does all connect back to Higgins's nightmare!

## -FOUR-

“How did you find out?” she asked, genuinely wanting to know and eager to focus on anything but his current mood. 

He stared at her, so angry, she was almost scared. Not of him, of course, but of the fact that she’d clearly upset him so much. Enough that he might not forgive her. 

“That’s your main concern here _Samantha_?” 

She felt a vague sense of panic as he used that name. Totally unreasonable. It was a perfectly nice name. Still, it made her feel vaguely nauseous. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” He held out a picture - her graduate class at Cambridge - where she was circled in black marker. The name corresponding with the picture was marked too. “It’s your name.”

So that’s how he’d figured it out.

“You got someone to find an actual yearbook? I’m impressed.”

MI6 had altered the digital records and all the official yearbooks at Cambridge. 

“What else? What else did you lie about?” he asked, and she hated the way he was looking at her. 

Like she was Hannah. Like she’d betrayed him.

“I didn’t lie.” She snatched the photo from him. “MI6 insisted I needed a different identity. _Samantha Westershire_ was too public of a person for their taste.”

“So what?” He swallowed. “You just became Juliet Higgins?”

“Yes. And I’ve been Juliet Higgins since then. Besides my birth date, nothing I've told you has been a lie.”

“Other than your name.”

“What’s in a name, really?” She tilted her head and wondered how to explain it to him. “Did you google her, before you came storming in here?”

He shook his head. She’d already figured out he hadn’t. He wasn’t asking the questions that would have brought on. Wasn't being sympathetic or pitying enough.

“If you had, you would have learned Samantha Westershire died in 2006.”

“MI6 faked your death,” he said, calmer, nodding. “So you’ve been Juliet Higgins for fourteen years?”

“Yes.”

He looked less furious and that made her panic lessen some. He’d realize it wasn’t a lie. Not really. Samantha Westershire had died. Sixteen years after she should have, but she had. And from that Juliet Higgins had been born, and she was who Samantha had always wanted to be. 

“I never thought you’d figure it out,” she said, getting up from her chair and walking over to the shredder. “No one ever has.”

“It was the birthday thing.” 

She nodded and turned the shredder on. Gave the picture a last look. Watched it go through the shredder. Wondered if she should be feeling something.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” she asked, even though she knew he wouldn’t. Not without her permission.

“Don’t you want TC and Rick and Kumu to know?” he asked, suddenly thoughtful. “Don’t you want to celebrate your own birthday? Have us call you by your real name? Tell your family you’re alive?”

“My name _is_ Juliet Higgins,” she insisted, looking him straight in the eyes. “Samantha has been dead a very long time.”

“You’re not in MI6 anymore you could-”

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samantha?  
> I don't even know a Samantha...


	5. When I Don't See You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re AU-ing Higgy’s mother having alzheimer's / dementia (from 1x06) because that just doesn't fit with this. 
> 
> New tags!

## -FIVE-

He hadn’t spoken to her in two days. It felt like much longer. 

Was she okay?

Was she sleeping? Eating?

He wanted not to care. He wanted to just change it. Make her really be Juliet Higgins. Not Samantha Westershire. Whoever that was.

But she was. Had been. For the first part of her life that had been who she was. Not Juliet Higgins.

And in four years she’d never once mentioned it to him.

Just the idea that she wasn’t who she said she was...it disturbed him. It hurt that she’d hid it. Even though she’d kept it from everyone, he felt singled out. Because he wasn’t just _anyone_. 

Still, reading about the tragedy that had been Samantha’s childhood, he almost understood. 

He’d found not just one -but several - scanned articles about a brutal home invasion into the Viscount of Westershire estate. Two members of staff, including the nanny, had been killed as well as the eight-year-old Charles Westershire. Juliet’s brother.

There was also a book - no longer available to order - on what had happened that night. Still, the fact that he’d found anything about events that happened well over a decade before internet news was a thing, meant this must have been a big deal. Still was of interest. 

And the tragedy didn’t stop with the little boy’s death. 

Not a week later the Viscountess had been found drowned in her bath. It was ruled accidental but reading between the lines Magnum figured a sucide someone had covered up. 

He couldn’t imagine going through something like that. Not really. He’d lost his father. But he’d been killed in action. His mother had explained that his father had died for a good cause, gone to heaven and would be watching over him, always. That one day they’d meet again. 

Did Samantha’s mother do that? Or was she too consumed by the pain of losing her son to comfort her daughter? The fact that she’d killed herself not even a week later didn’t leave him with a lot of hope.

Why had Juliet lied to him about it all though? Why hadn’t she told him? At some point. There had been moments, times, missing cases, even cases with kids they’d worked when she could have mentioned it.

Now he hadn’t spoken to her in two days and fourteen hours. Tomorrow would make it three days. 

Despite how miserable he felt, how worried he was for her, the hurt stopped him from reaching out. From walking up to the main house. From sending her the funny Doberman gif he’d come across. From even answering when she'd texted him about a case. He felt rotten about it, but he also needed time.

But he also knew wouldn't stay mad at her. He knew it in his bones. It was almost comforting, being so sure, that soon enough he would forgive her. No matter what, he'd figure a way to get past it.

Things would be back to normal.

Or as normal as it ever were with them.

* * *

Juliet didn’t like taking baths. She liked swimming, but baths in bathtubs? No. 

Still, here she was. Wine in hand, sudsy water. Candles. It was supposed to make her feel better. People all over the internet recommended it. It was supposed to help one relax, sleep better.

And she _needed_ to sleep. She’d tried the day time naps on her own, since they worked so well on his sofa, in the car with him, but alone she just woke up in a panic.

The bath was a last resort of sorts.

Because she’d lost weight she couldn’t really afford to lose, her teeth began to chatter unless she stayed almost completely submerged in the warm water. So she leaned back, neck on the edge of the tub, her head just over the surface.

The bath would surely help. If the internet said so, it must be true.

But all the baths in the world wouldn’t make Magnum want to talk to her again though.

Not that she blamed him. She understood why he was mad. In a way.

She stifled a yawn and forced her eyes open not sure when she'd closed them. 

Still, she’d been surprised by how much being ignored by him hurt. Seeing as she often complained about what a bother he was, suddenly not having him in her life had made it so frighteningly _empty_. 

Worse than when he’d just avoided her after she decided to not go through with the fake wedding. Because that time he’d felt hurt because he was losing her, not because of something she’d done. 

This was different. This was just because of her past. Something she **had** actually done. Because he felt like she’d lied. Like she’d betrayed him. She’d never wanted him to feel that way.

Abruptly, Juliet wondered if her mother had felt like she had betrayed Charles. Or if the Viscountess had felt betrayed by Juliet’s father. If that had been part of why she’d done what she did.

Juliet was tired enough she could imagine how her mother might have felt with a bottle of sleeping pills and a good amount of wine in her system.

Just slipping under the surface wouldn’t have been very hard. Letting go.

Children of a parent who had killed themself were three times more likely to end their own life.

Females who lost a sibling one point five times more likely than the average to kill themselves.

She wondered what those odds combined to. Normally her analytical mind would have jumped at the idea of calculating, computing the answer. 

Tonight, all she did was sink under the water completely.

She stayed under until her lungs screamed for breath. Then she waited a moment longer - until black began to appear in front of her eye. Wondered just for a second if staying under would be so bad. Dead people didn't have nightmares, did they? Then she broke the surface, drawing in air, shocked at where her thoughts had gone.

Quickly she got out of the tub. Drained it. Took an ice-cold shower.

For some reason, that night, she didn’t have a single nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juliet is not suicidal.  
> But she's exhausted and even in her waking hours she's not able to escape her past and now Magnum is mad at her? I think we can understand she's not exactly not feeling great or like herself and some crazy stuff is going through her head.


	6. A Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, yes, but the next chapter will have a bit more development (goodbye Ethan amongst them!), I just need to tweak it a tiny bit once I'm done with Christmas shopping this afternoon! Can't believe it's just a about week left until Christmas! :O Where did December go?

## -SIX- 

“Your father is still alive,” Magnum told her three days after the whole _Samantha Westershire_ conversation. Three and a half to be precise, not that she was counting.

“I never said he wasn’t,” she said, torn between being happy he was talking to her again and feeling vaguely terrified because this meant he had googled her. 

She knew what that searches for her name showed, even after all these years, and she didn’t want his pity. Still, she felt more prepared for it maybe because of the odd full night of sleep she'd gotten. And all it had taken was the briefest moment of just imagining letting go...

“I’m sorry. About your mother. And your brother.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said as she tried to gauge his expression. 

Saw the pity she'd feared but understanding too, and that mitigated it. He'd lost his father when he was not much older than she'd been that night. Not the same but still, he knew how devastating losing someone when you were just a child was. She found the fact that she knew he understood and genuinely was sorry for her loss, what she’d gone through, somehow helped. Made her feel less exposed.

Thinking about it she wasn’t sure anyone had ever said that, especially about Charles, to her. That they were sorry she’d lost him. Her pain had not seemed to be an important consideration to anyone after his death. 

“You were only five. Must have been traum-”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said, even though she knew it might make him leave. Make him go back to not speaking to her again.

But she couldn’t talk about Charles. Or that night. 

No matter what it cost, she was taking what happened to her grave. She knew her father would too, and since they were the only two people still alive, the events of that night would die with them.

But then rather than be offended by her unwillingness to share, he surprised her. “I understand. It’s hard to talk about things like that.”

He had no idea.

But yes.

Just mentioning that night did tend to bring up unpleasant memories, best left in the deepest darkest corners of her mind.

“But if you do want to talk, I’m here,” he said and when their eyes met, she knew he’d forgiven her.

Probably he’d have even insisted there was nothing for him to forgive. That the lies hadn’t actually been something she’d actually meant to do. That she was still Higgy.

At least...at least that was what she hoped. 

That was all she wanted.

In fact, at that moment she’d have given anything just for him to smile and call her _Higgy_. But he didn’t. 

Still, it was a start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we know just how old Magnum was when his dad died? I feel like four years old was what someone said (for it to make sense he died in Vietnam?) but Thomas has enough memories of his dad that seems too early. Besides, didn't the Vietnam war end in like '75? *Confused*


	7. What We Share (or Don't)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke a x-mas snow globe my (very absentee) father gave me when I was little and it's weird how bad that made me feel.

## -SEVEN–

“I broke up with Ethan.”

Few words had cheered a person up as much as those did Magnum. 

She’d come as quiet as a ninja, suddenly just there next to him, holding two beers, sharing the sad - or glad- news. She gave him one bottle and keeping one for herself as she sat on the lawn chair next to his. 

Close enough each puff of the wind brought the faint hint of the shampoo she’d used on her still damp hair, to his nose. 

Close enough that even by the faint tiki torchlight he could see she wasn’t wearing anything under her thin white tank top. 

Close enough that when they both rested their arm on the chairs’ armrests, he could feel the heath of her skin.

"Really?"

She twisted the cap of her beer. He did the same. "Yes."

“Why’d you end it? I thought things were going well.”

She took a drink, looking out over the grounds, the ocean. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t _know_?” He wasn't sure why that hurt a little. It wasn't like he'd wanted her to just go ' _I realized I had no feelings for Ethan and that his face (and fancy doctor's degree) was stupid_ '. Not in the least.

“I just knew I had to.” She sighed. “Maybe it’s just sleep deprivation. Maybe I’ll regret it when the dream stops.”

If they stopped.

He was worried they wouldn’t. Even if she now was sleeping a few hours every afternoon on his sofa, there were still dark circles under her eyes. But bringing the dream up, trying to prod, determine if they were about Charles, her mother's death or something else entirely that might have happened - either to Samantha or Juliet - it just resulted in her shutting down. So he'd dialed back, hoping she would talk to him when she felt the time was right.

“Possible,” he said, because maybe she would regret it. Or it was just her finally seeing, feeling, understanding, what Magnum himself had for what felt like forever: Ethan and Higgy? That wasn’t right.

They drank their beers in silence for a minute. She was looking at the ocean. He was looking at her. Probably he shouldn't be, but he stupidly couldn't take his eyes off her.

“I didn’t want to tell him my secrets,” she finally said. “I realized that tonight. I think that’s why.”

“Oh.”

She turned to him, upset yet accepting, “Our waitress was named Samantha. It wasn’t like I ever planned to tell him about her…then I realized I’ve never even considered telling him about MI6. About Richard. I can’t even imagine it. And I should want to tell him things, shouldn’t I? Beside fun anecdotal stories of cases we've worked?“

“Maybe,” he said. She never seemed like she wanted to tell him anything either. He always had to drag it out of her. But she didn’t seem to resent that he knew now that he did either. He hoped that meant something. It did however add to a small nagging worry in the back of his mind. If she didn't have to, if circumstances hadn't lead to Robin letting him know she was MI6, if Ian hadn't come back and forced Juliet to tell him about Richard, if he hadn't figured the thing with her birthday and Samantha out, would she have ever have told him?

Or would she just have kept on lying. No. Not lying. But hidding. 

And if so, was it fair to even blame her? With the things she'd lived through? Didn't it make sense she kept her secrets and feelings close?

He wasn't sure but the thought still made him uneasy. 

“I never used to think about her,” she said, after a bit. “She really was dead. Then you brought her back, somehow.”

After he took a sip of his beer, he moved his arm just a little closer to hers, so they were touching as they rested on the armrests.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he asked, testing the new name, wondering if he could get used to calling her that. If that was something she migth want. 

“Don’t.”

He didn’t move his arm, unsure if it was the touching or the name that had triggered her. “Don’t what?”

“Call me Sam,” she said, looking at him again. And when she did, he’d felt like he’d couldn’t breathe for a second. There was so much emotion in her eyes, and he didn’t understand it. Not really. “It’s not my name.”

“Okay,” he said, "I won't." And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he took her hand. 

Laced their fingers together.

She let him, though an expression he couldn’t decipher flash across her face for a second. Then the smallest of smiles replaced it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to work a 'Higgy' in there, but I think Magnum is still holding back a little because of the whole Samantha thing.


	8. Impossible Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How about this! I’ll let you pick which one? The snarky blonde or the big guy?” Rowan said, right next to his ear, pointing his gun to Higgy and then TC. “Which one do I kill first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is different from what came before but it's needed for the direction the story is going so...

## -EIGHT– 

“Where is the money?” The bad guy asked Magnum, pointing his gun to TC. Then Juliet. They were cuffed and kneeling, two guys with automatic weapons covering them. Magnum was cuffed to a metal pipe twenty feet away, across from them. “Tell me or I will kill your friends.”

“I don’t know where it is!” He said, and he truly didn’t. Not that he would have told Rowan even if he did. Too big a risk he’d just have his men shoot the three of them and be done with it. He’d already killed a security guy and a witness. The man was completely crazed.

“I don’t believe you.” The guy – Rowan – said. They’d been hired by him two days ago to track down a man that he said had stolen money from him. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.”

“I am. I don’t know. We were still looking-”

“How about this, unless you tell me I’m going to shoot one of your friends.” Rowan smiled unpleasantly at him. 

Magnum wasn’t really paying attention to him though. He was trying to wordlessly communicate with his friends. As Juliet met his eyes noticed blood on the side of her face and he wondered when it had gotten there. One of the guys with automatics had disarmed them, must have happened then. Despite the injury, she was doing over-exaggerated eye rolls towards the big guy to her left. He wasn’t sure if that meant she was going to take him or if that meant she thought Magnum should go for him first.

He wasn’t sure how she figured that would work, since he was too far away. And cuffed to a pipe! Maybe she figured once he got Rowan's gun?

“How about this! I’ll let you pick which one? The snarky blonde or the big guy?” Rowan said, right next to his ear, pointing his gun to Higgy and then TC. “Which one do I kill first?”

“You’re crazy!”

“Pick one!”

“I’m not going to pick which one of my friends you shoot!” he said, disgusted with the idea. “And shooting them won’t get you your money.”

“Oh, I think it will,” Rowan said with a smirk. “We know you found it. Killed Dylan for it. We put a GPS tracker on your car. Followed you! We found the safe house with the empty money bags and Dylan.”

“The bags were empty when we got there,” Magnum said, looking to Higgy, figuring she might just pitch in and attempt to make their case. But she was looking intently at Rowan. Like she was contemplating all the possible (and painful) ways she might kill him. “Dylan was already dead. Someone else got your money.”

“No. You took the money! Now, who do I kill first, _mmm_?” This time he seemed more like he was asking himself than Magnum.

“I don’t have your money,” Magnum said, tugging at his cuffed wrist, feeling the metal bite into his wrist. “If you hurt either one of them-”

“Pick one then. Or I shoot them both,” Rowan said, raising the gun again. “If that doesn’t loosen your tongue I might believe you actually don’t know where the money is.”

Magnum looked to TC, who met his eyes and gave him a ‘c _ome on White Knight, time to save the day'_ look. 

Magnum figured he could get the gun off Rowan. Probably. The guy was waving it around like crazy.

But the two guys with automatics were too far away. With TC and Juliet cuffed he didn’t like their odds.

“Pick one!”

Looking at Rowan, Magnum suddenly felt sure he would actually shoot one or both of his friends. 

Would picking one mean only one of them died? Or would Rowan just go right on ahead shooting them both? All three of them when he realized Magnum really didn’t know where the money was? 

He’d already shot the security guard and a woman walking her dog. He'd shot the dog too. So Magnum suspected nothing short of all of them in body bags would satisfy Rowan. 

Besides, this wasn’t a choice he could make even if he knew for sure one of them would live. 

TC or Higgy? 

He couldn’t be responsible for either one of their deaths.

TC was his brother. They’d been through some of the worst things one could go through together. They’d fought, killed and survived together. They were _brothers_. 

Juliet was…his partner. Completed him in the best and worst way. There was no one else he wanted to see and talk to every day. Like she’d pointed out after she got shot ‘ _you don't know what you'd do without me_ ’. That was as true as anything had ever been. Life without Higgy? He truly couldn’t see it. He needed her.

Three days without speaking to her the other week had been almost too long. Three weeks, three months, three years… a lifetime? That just wasn’t possible. His mind just couldn’t accept it. He simply _needed_ her.

He looked to TC, he needed him too, in a different way. Not as desperately but... no way could he choose. 

It was impossible. He couldn’t do it.

He looked at Juliet again. Could he? 

“I’m not going to choose.” Rowan’s gun clicked and Magnum felt as if his heart might explode wondering if he should have made a choice. Had he just killed them both? “So why don’t you just shoot me? I mean if I won’t tell you after that you can be sure I’m telling the truth right?”

He wasn’t sure why that made Juliet look back up at him. There was more blood trailing down her cheek. There was also something else; she was as pale as he’d ever seen her. Including the time when she was technically dead -drowned- and he was giving her CPR.

She’d been sleeping better. Just a little. But clearly, she still wasn’t completely fine. Or maybe it was the desperate situation. 

“If I shoot you, you might die before you tell me where the money is,” Rowan said as if Magnum was stupid. Or trying to trick him. 

“If you-” Magnum began, trying to think of anything that he could say that might change the situation to his favor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rowan said and raised his gun to take aim at TC and Juliet.

A gunshot rang out.

Magnum felt his heart rate excel further, terrified he'd see either TC or Juliet bleeding or dead.

Only then Rowan stopped.

Toppled over.

His dead eyes stared up at Magnum.

A bullet straight between the eye, fired by the one and only detective Gordy _impeccable-timing_ Katsumoto, who was leading a swarm of HPD officers into the warehouse. 

"Godry," he called with fake cheerfulness that he hoped would cover up the utter relief he was feeling. "Took you long enough to get here."

"How about you learn to say thank you Magnum," the detective said as he tossed him keys for the cuffs.

Magnum looked to Juliet and TC who were being helped to their feet by the officer's Katsumoto had brought.

 _She_ was fine.

 _They_ were fine. 

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried to squeeze in a hug here at the end but couldn't quite make it work...  
> (How do we still not have a proper hug three seasons in?)


	9. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnum helps Higgy with another boo-boo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnum is very conflicted about the fact that he _might_ have made a choice. Even though he didn't. But maybe a tiny part of him did. So even though he didn't actually decide much less actually voice it, he's still a angsty about it.

## -NINE- 

“It’s just a small cut,” she said, but even as she protected she let him sit her down on the side of the bathtub. “I can clean it myself.”

“I don’t know,” he teased, as he soaked a cotton ball in warm water. “You did manage to get hit in the face with your own gun. That’s pretty incompetent.”

“Magnum,” she said with an eye roll. “Shut up.”

“Whatever you say Higgy,” he said before he gently began to clean at the cut with the one stitch right by her eyebrow. 

She seemed pleased with him calling her that, and he realized he hadn’t. Not since the whole Samantha thing. He wasn’t sure why he’d let that get to him so badly.

No matter her name, she was Juliet Higgins. Higgy. He felt stupid for thinking her having changed her name at some point made her someone different.

Stupid that it took her almost getting shot, almost dying, for him to realize he just plain old needed her.

More than anyone else. 

“It’s okay, I understand,” she said once he was done gently tapping some vaseline onto her cut. “You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s okay. I understand,” she repeated. “TC is your brother.”

Then she smiled in a way that broke his heart and he finally understood what she was talking about.

She thought he’d have picked her to die. If it truly had come down to it.

All the while, he’d been terrified, maybe he’d have done the opposite. 

That if he’d really had been sure of the outcome, maybe, just maybe, he _would_ have made a choice. 

And he hated himself for that. Because how could he even think of betraying TC like that? 

“Listen to me,” he said, putting a hand on her cheek, leaning down so they were face to face. “I meant what I said. I wouldn't have made that choice. No one would have.”

“You would have.” She leaned into his hand. “It’s fine. And if you ever have to, in the future, don’t blame yourself, okay.”

He stared at her. Because he couldn’t believe that she was telling him this. Both the fact that she was so sure he wouldn’t pick her and that she was absolving him of guilt if it ever happened.

For a second he was tempted to tell her he _would_ have picked her. If it really came down to it. But he wanted to bury that fact. That horrifying fact. Because she couldn’t be more important to him than TC. 

She wasn’t. 

Couldn’t be. Could she?

No.

He wouldn’t have made the choice. Because TC was his brother. He’d never have been able to not pick him. Even with Juliet’s life on the line.

He wouldn’t have made the choice. No matter what. He had to believe that.

“I’d have made sure he shot me before I let him shoot you or TC,” he told her. Because that was the only choice that would have been acceptable. 

“You really wouldn’t have chosen?” she asked, seeming to finally start to believe him. “Truly?”

“I wouldn’t.”

Oddly enough her response to that was, "Thank you."

Then she leaned forward, put a hand on his cheek - mirroring how he was touching her- and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm almost caught up with what I've written and today I have the last class of the year (and a presentation!) and tomorrow an exam so the updates will maybe be a bit slower. There is not that much left though and I'm trying to have the story all finished before next week (and x-mas) comes around and since I've been on a roll, just writing and writing I'm hopeful. 
> 
> I've also got another fic I'm working on (the premise of that one being: "Robin’s Nest is hemorrhaging money. To make the budget work Juliet has to temporarily rent out the main house and move in with Magnum in the guest house.") but I want to finish this one before I post that one.


	10. World Views

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I’m very excited for Magnum 3.03... the sneak peaks for MacGyver almost has my MacRiley heart more excited. I’m still gonna watch Magnum first… probably...

## -TEN-

“Told you I’d find him for you,” Magnum said as the little girl hugged her puppy.

“Make sure you don’t let him off the leash again until he’s trained,” Juliet said, because it just had to be said. Or if the girl was unlucky the next time the dog might not come back as whole and happy as it was.

“I won't,” the girl promised before she ran into the flat with the little dog, and her tired looking mother gave them a relieved smile.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, looking around in the messy hall - presumably for her purse. 

“Nothing,” Magnum said. “We said we’d only charge you for expenses and there were none.”

Juliet opened her mouth, because there had been, but closed it again. The woman just looked _so_ relieved. 

“Merry Christmas,” Juliet said instead, wanting to glare at Magnum. Be mad at him. 

But she wasn’t.

They’d got a full minute of well wishes and thanks from the woman (along with the promise she'd bake and deliver her grandmother's _very special lemon pie_ to Robin's Nest the next day. Magnum seemed to think this more than payment enough. Juliet wasn't so sure, pie was nice and all but you couldn't exactly fill up the Ferrari's petrol tank with it, now could you?)

* * *

When they went down the steep steps of the building, Magnum offered her his hand. She didn't need it, of course she didn't. But she took it anyway.

Hand holding. That was new. She found it a little strange but not in a bad way. A number of small things like this, offering her his hand, brushing against her, even touching her hair had been happening over the past few days.

Since she kissed him.

She still wasn't sure what that meant. Why she'd done it.

(Okay, that wasn't strictly true).

What she did know was that she liked it. Kissing him. His touch. It made her tense and relaxed all at once. Terrified yet thrilled. She wasn't even sure could still feel like that. She certainly hadn't with Ethan, as pleasant and handsome as he'd been. But like a whisper tickling the back of her neck, it had always been there with Magnum. She just hadn't been willing to embrace it. Now that she had... well, everything was different. Ever look and touch.

“Sorry,” he said, clearly thinking she wasn’t happy with him. But while part of her wanted to be angry- they couldn't keep working for free, not with her in charge of making sure the staff got paid at Robin's Nest - she understood. He’d been raised by a single mother. Juliet wondered if there times his mother was having a hard time trying to make ends meet. Possible. Maybe even likely. She should have known they weren’t going to make any money on this case. “I just couldn’t-”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “I understand.”

And she did.

Yet at times like this, she did sometimes wonder if Thomas Magnum was real or not. 

Because the choices he made, the risks he took, the things that drove him - the simple yet unique desire to simply help - wasn’t normal. Not to her at least. 

Pure motives had been like a story in a children’s book to her before she came to Hawaii. Like a prince (or white knight..) from a fairy tale; it sounded nice but wasn’t actually real. 

Now, she kept thinking that maybe it was her worldview that was abnormal. It wasn’t like she’d assumed everyone was evil or anything before. She’d just lived her life knowing everyone had some ulterior motive for their actions. 

But was that really true?

There was doubt about that now. Had been for some time actually. 

She also kept thinking about how Magnum had said that no one would make that choice. That if they, like him, were made to pick one of their loved ones to die, they wouldn’t. 

(She flattered herself by including herself in the category of his _loved ones._ )

Except she’d always thought that most people would. Choose. She wouldn’t, personally, but she had her reasons not to. But most people would. Given a choice between their best friend, their lover, their boss, their mother or even a stranger. They would choose. 

People liked control. They would make the choice. Even in a situation like that, where there were no good outcomes. 

(But there were _worse_ ones. People didn’t realize that.)

They would choose. 

At least, that's what she told herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving in the right direction but Higgy still isn't quite ready to tell him about her past/dream...


	11.  Focus Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers in this Note!  
> What'd you think of 3.03?  
> I for one would have liked a more brother in arms or buddy-buddy feel episode rather than all the bickering. I felt like everyone were annoyed with everyone, especially Juliet but even TC and Magnum were a bit snippy weren't they? Plus the hostage thing felt low stake to me. Like I wasn't actually worried anyone would die or get shot, at any point, at all. But I'm gonna do a second watch later and maybe I'll like it better, since I know what to expect. I did enjoy the fact that the whole 'two fake fiances in a week' came back to haunt Higgy a little... the whole switching grooms thing was so idiotic ... and that everything is finally good-ish with her visa situation!

## -ELEVEN-

“My nightmares are usually about labyrinths,” he told her, lazily trailing his fingers along her arm. “I never hit any dead ends or anything but I never find a way out either.”

He figured maybe if he shared first, she’d share too. Unlikely? Sure, but worth a try. She had surprised him many times before.

”Not Afghanistan?” she asked. They were on the sofa in the guest house, her head on his shoulder. 

They hadn’t talked about the kiss in the bathroom the other day. Nor had they kissed again. But as if by some unspoken mutual agreement, something had changed. 

She would stand closer to him, put a hand on his forearm or just brush fully against him rather than just walk past. He would take every chance he got to run his fingers along...well any part of her really, arms, waist, hips. Pulled her to him when they sat. Tease at the hems of her tops. Take her hand. Brush escaped curls of her unruly hair back into place.

“Sometimes.” He tried to figure out how to explain it. “The labyrinth is different. Smells different. Different temperatures. Sometimes it’s Afghanistan, something it’s the mainland. Sometimes it’s even here.”

“Here?” she turned her face up, meeting his eyes. “Hawaii? What is so scary here?”

“Plenty of things.” _You._ “Volcanoes. Two vicious guard dogs out for my blood. Gangsters. Bugs. Cheating spouses trying to shoot me for taking pictures of them.”

She frowned. “You have nightmares about the lads?”

He’d expected her to smirk about that but it looked like it bothered her. Which hadn’t been what he meant to do. He’d meant to make her smile.

“No recently,” he assured her. “Besides, I thought you’d be proud of them for that.”

“Oh. I am.” She straightened up, that untouchable Higgins glint he both loved and hated back in her eyes. “And it really is your own fault they don’t like you.”

“How can it be my fault? You were the one that trained them to hate me,” he said, even though he and the lads got on a bit better these days.

“You jumped the fence the first time you came here,” she said, “They don’t forget a thing like that.”

“Neither have you!” he pointed out. 

“Can’t really blame me for that,” she said, smiling, which was what he’d wanted. “You did think I was the maid.”

“I never thought that,” he told her truthfully. She had been wearing a rather not conducive to maid activities outfit that first time they met. “And you knew that.”

“Yes,” she said, almost thoughtfully. “I suppose I did.”

She was quiet for a long time. “My dream is not to like that.”

“What’s it like then?” he said, holding his breath, waiting for what came next.

But she didn’t answer. 

Instead she surprised him by sliding one of her legs across him, straddling him. He saw it for what it was. An attempt to distract him more than anything.

Yet, he couldn’t help but to run his hands up her thighs, hips and to her waist. She was in some sort of cropped top and he’d been wondering all morning if she was wearing anything under it. Given the chance he’d very much like to find out.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” he asked as she ran her fingers along his shoulders up into his hair.

She smiled at him. “Highly unlikely.”

“So that means there is a chance you will tell me?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he slid his arms up her sides, under the crop top.

“I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing here,” she whispered and moved her hips against his. 

He was suddenly inclined to very much agree with her


	12. Too Late?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because no one gets to be happy for more than half a chapter in my stories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do guys bookmark fics? I feel like I don’t use that feature enough. I wish there were like a way to make ‘book lists’ to save fics under different categories. Is that what collections are for? I think I need an AO3 instructional video...

## -12-

It had been a fluke. 

Two nights in a row she’d slept through the night. No nightmares. 

She’d hoped that was the end of it. Reveled in the feeling of being rested. Of the fact that something good had happened. More than _one_ good thing actually...

But she’d been too hasty. 

She should have known, really, good things rarely lasted. How could she'd even have hoped sleeping in a man's arms was some magic cure all? Because it wasn't. Clearly. And now the dreams were back and with them, would come questions. Questions she once again _wouldn't_ answer. Which would hurt him. 

She didn’t want to do that.

But she would. She just knew it - and a part of her hated herself for it. 

“Juliet?” he whispered sleepily as she slipped out of bed.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “Go back to sleep.”

She’d woken up soundlessly but with her heart beating a hundred miles an hour. Quickly she’d pressed her face into the pillows, drawing small panicked breaths, hoping she wouldn’t wake him.

Then once she could breathe again, she’d needed to escape.

“No,” he said, firmly enough to make her stop two steps from the bed. 

“No?” She raised an eyebrow and turned back to him. 

“You can’t just wake up and not even try to go back to sleep,” he insisted, softening his voice. “Come on.” He patted the bed.

“I won’t be able to fall back asleep,” she said, turning away again. “I’ve tried. Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

“Not with me sleeping next to you-”

She scoffed and that stopped him short. She knew without seeing his face that she’d hurt him with that dismissal.

As expected. Sooner than even she’d imagined.

But it was for the best. If he was hurt, he’d let her leave.

Because he’d prod if she stayed. And she feared if he did, she might be tempted to tell him. 

She wondered what he would say if she told him about the night Charles died. 

Would he pity her? Or absolve her? 

Did she need absolution? 

Had what happened truly been her fault? 

She thought he might tell it hadn’t been. He might tell her she’d been five years old. That what had happened didn’t change how he saw her. She found herself wanting that, even if it wouldn’t change what had happened. It wouldn’t change how she saw herself. Still...

Maybe she should tell him. 

But just thinking that made all sorts of alarm bells go off in her mind.

She could not be considering sharing the one thing she’d always planned to take to her grave - with him. It had never even crossed her mind to tell anyone before. It simply didn’t exist as an option. Now it did. 

Did that mean… 

No.

She’d sworn to never let herself fall in love like that again. To not let that kind of terrible love - the kind that could break you - touch her ever again. 

_Too late_ , a little voice in the back of her mind whispered. But that voice was wrong. Had to be. 

“Juliet-”

“I’m going to the main house.” She held up a hand. They'd been spending way to much time together anyway. From a kiss to three nights in a row? What had she been thinking. “Stay here. I mean it Thomas. I want to be alone.”

He let her leave. 

And for some reason that made her want to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, being evasive and pushing Magnum away is at least totally in character with season 3 Juliet...


	13. Quiet Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bubbles that stay bubbly in the bath? I don’t know that they exist but on TV they seem to so in this story they do too. (Even though Juliet using them in a bath where she’d be sticking her head under makes even less sense...but it’s fiction so we’re going for bubbles.)
> 
> Also been listening to this while writing, it's been giving me some feels:

## -13 - 

She’d figured out a solution.

It wasn’t ideal

But when were things ever ideal?

After three nights of barely three hours of sleep, yoga and herbal teas and breathing exercise, she’d given the bath thing another go. Done exactly what she’d done that night when Magnum had found out about Samantha and everything had seemed bleak and pointless. 

And it had worked.

Maybe the combination, slight oxygen deprivation followed shortly by icy-water, re-set her brain somehow. Either way, it worked. She slept afterwards. And that was all that mattered. 

She’d even told Magnum about it. Well, the taking a bath part. Not the staying under until black spots started appearing in front of her eyes. Because she knew that wasn’t healthy. 

But with her no longer sleep deprived Magnum had stopped looking so damned worried. She figured in a week or two he'll have forgotten about her nightmares. It would be just one of those things. 

Even if she wasn’t sure if it was a good or even semi-permanent solution, it was a solution. For the past week it had worked. No nightmares.

So now everything had been good between them. She’d said sorry for being upset, for leaving. Magnum had said sorry for pushing. It had all been very civilized. 

_Too_ civilized maybe.

* * *

“I think Santa brought me my gift early,” Magnum said from the doorway to her en-suite bathroom in the main house. “You know, I always had these images of you all wet and soapy come into my head whenever you said you were going to take a shower. ”

“Always?” She raised an eyebrow, trying to make sure she sounded confident - even though part of her suddenly felt shy. She wasn’t sure why. She had told him to come up to the main house, her room, and left the door open to the bath. Still, she moved some sudsy bubbles to cover the important bits. Mostly to tease him but a little for modesty's sake. “Even when you thought me the most frustrating woman on earth?”

He came into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub by her legs, taking her in. “Who says I still don’t think that?”

“Just a feeling,” she said. She smiled and sat up a little, so the bubbles slid off her upper body, giving him just a peak of her breasts. Which worked a charm because suddenly he wasn’t very interested in sparring.

Well, not with words at least.

* * *

She woke up; her father’s voice still ringing her ears and the feeling of rough hands holding her. So when Magnum reached for her, she wasn’t seeing, feeling, him. Thankfully her instincts were that of scared five-year-old dream Samantha's and not a ex-spy with a decade of hand to hand combat experience Higgins'. 

Thus, she basically fell out of the bed, scrambling away from him. Different from how she normally handled the nightmares. But she’d been without them for a week. And this one had somehow been worse, like a week worth, rolled into one.

“I thought they’d stopped,” he said, his dark eyes too concerned as he slipped out of the bed and sat next to her on the floor. “You took a bath, you said that worked.”

“It does.” She didn’t look at him. “I just have to take a cold shower after too, that's all. Go back to bed.”

“Juliet,” he said her name like it was a warning.

So she smiled and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be quick.”

She wouldn’t be. Probably not. Her bath, near drowning, ice cold shower ritual took at least twenty minutes. But she figured he’d fall asleep quickly; they had gotten a pretty good workout before falling asleep the first time…

* * *

First she thought the shadows were the normal kind. She'd left the bubbles of the bath out this time and only lit two candles so there was already dark in the bathroom.

Only the darkness wasn't her brain screaming for oxygen. It was moving. Coming closer. 

"Higgy!"

Magnum jerked her out of the water by the shoulders.

"Did you fall asleep?"

She blinked, trying to adjust to what was going on, pulling away from his hands and pulling her legs up to her chest.

"No," She took a deep breath in. He seemed surprised she wasn't coughing up water. Then the surprise on his face changed to suspicion.

"What were you doing?" 

"Taking a bath," she said, "That's all."

"Is this what you've been doing? To sleep?"

She tried not to feel guilty. She could do whatever she wanted. She didn't have to tell him. In fact, she'd done it so he wouldn't worry. So he wouldn't ask. So she wouldn't have to lie or tell him to mind his own business. So they'd be okay. She did not need to feel guilty. She'd done it for _them_.

Still. She felt guilty.

"Here," he said as he handed her the towel. "Now tell me. Have you been doing this a lot?"

She stood. Decided honesty was the only way forward. "Yes."

“That’s messed up! You can't seriously think doing what the hell thing this is, is actually helping!”

She stepped out of in the bath, wrapping the towel around herself, guilty and angry all at once. “I’m sleeping!”

“But you haven’t actually dealt with anything!” he almost shouted. “Have you even figured out what triggered them in the first place?”

“No,” she said, and walked past him out into the bed room.“And I’ve had them before. They’ve just never stuck around this long.”

“This whole thing screams PTSD to me,” he said, then looked at her. Really looked.“Is this why you do yoga so religiously? Did that help before?”

“No.” She twisted her face up. “A little. But it doesn't help at all now.” 

“Are you sure? Maybe you could-” 

“I’m sure!” she said, wishing she could say the right thing to stop this argument but having no idea how to. Or why she felt so angry with him. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Doing a bang up job of it, drowning yourself.” He drew a shaky breath. "God, I though... Promise you won't do that again."

“I’m sorry my coping mechanism isn’t up to your standards,” she hissed at him. “We can’t all be as well adjusted as you.”

“That’s not what I meant-” He stopped himself. “You know that’s not what I meant. Still, Higgins-”

“Isn’t it? I mean lets be honest here,” she said, crossing her arms. “Life would be a lot easier for you if you didn't have to deal with this. With me! I know you’re good at soldiering on, you believe your own bloody lies about being fine even. But I’m trying to be fine. But I’m not!”

“I realize that. And I want to help you!” He sounded pissed. She supposed he had a right. She was lashing out because she was upset and the dream was still fresh in her mind, not because she was actually upset with him. “I want you to fucking get over this. That thing in the tub, that scared me. So talk to me, a doctor, someone, because it’s getting-”

“What?”

“It’s been weeks,” he said. “You need to figure out what triggered this and deal with it. Or just find some way to cope. A way that’s not half drowning before going to sleep. Because I can’t...”

“You _can’t_ what?” she asked, not wanting to know but not able to stop.

“Nothing.”

“If you have something to say, say it!” _Please don’t say it._

“If you can’t trust me with this, I don’t know-” 

“Don’t _know_ what?” she asked, trying to show just how terrified his words were suddenly making her. It was like standing on the train track waiting for the train, hearing it in the distance, feeling the vibrations in the tracks, but being unable to move.

“If I can be with you if you don’t trust me,” he said and even though she could tell he didn’t want to say it, he had. And his words were just about her worst fear. 

“So it’s an ultimatum?” She glared at him, hating him just a little for making her feel so small. So scared. For highlighting how much she needed and wanted him, if only to herself. 

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He shook his head but moved closer to her. Then his voice softened, “No. It’s not. I just want to help you. God Higgy I thought, in the bath...”

“If you want to help me, then let it go,” she asked, maybe even begging.”Just accept I don’t want to talk about it.”

* * *

*Magnum*

* * *

“What is it? What could be so bad you can’t tell me?” he asked, because he just couldn't let it go. Couldn't ever walk in on this again. Having her nearly die, giving her CPR on that island last year was one to many times seeing her like that already.

“I-”

“Did you find your mother’s body?” he asked, because that was one of his theories. One of the ones that seemed to make the most sense. Especially with this 'bath' situation. “When she killed herself?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My father found her. I never even saw her body.”

“Your brother then?” he insisted. 

She shook her head again. But it was  _ that _ . Or something to do with it. “I just  _ can’t _ .”

“You  _ won’t  _ you mean,” he said, because that was the truth. There was no actual reason she couldn’t tell him, other than the fact she didn’t want to. Didn’t trust him enough.

And that was the rub, wasn’t it? That was why it hurt.

She didn’t trust him.

”I’m not going to tell you.” She looked so pale and vulnerable yet at the same time he’d never seen her as fierce. As determined. 

“What is so bad?” He just couldn’t figure it out. There were a few options left, terrible options, but he hadn’t seen any of the signs of those. But still he had to try. Because he hoped if he guessed right, he’d see it on her face. For just a second. But then he’d know. “Did some hurt you? Did your father do something to you? To your brother?”

“No!” The surprise on her face at this thought had even entered his mind, assured him he had been correct in thinking this was not what had happened to her. “No.”

“But it is about your brother’s death, isn’t it?” he asked and the look on her face was as close of a confirmation he was going to get. 

“Yes.”

“Please,” he whispered. “Please talk to me.” 

"I can't." He thought she might cry and . “Please. Let it go.”

He hesitated for a second then pulled her to him, hugged her close and whispered, “Okay." Because he just couldn't keep pushing. Not right then at least. "Just promise me you won't do this bath thing. We'll figure something else out, alright?”

She whispered a promise into his neck. But even as held her close, he worried there was no _else_. No solution. Not unless she opened up and shared whatever had her brain going hay-wire. Good thing he wasn’t the kind of person who let things go. He would for now, but unless things got better, they'd have to talk about it all eventually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urg, I've been writing stuff out of order. Getting it to work in chronological order is Hard.


	14. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas (and it's mostly fluffy...because...Christmas?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a sort of 'holiday special' for this story. IDK. I'm working on an actual one but I want it to be done before I actually start posting so we'll see.
> 
> Don't judge my attempt at a little smut-adjacent content to harshly okay? I'm not super confident writing it.

## -14 -

“She liked you,” she told him as he kissed her neck. They were in bed, the sun shining in at them.

A too handsome lover, sunshine and a barbecue planned for later. What a strange yet pleasant way to spend Christmas.

“She didn’t,” he assured her, stopping the kissing - most disappointing - to argue. “She was just being nice!”

“Please, you were the prettiest thing she’d seen this year,” she told him and that made him grin. “She wanted to keep you.”

“Instead she ended up paying for your Christmas gift,” he said, sliding his hands along her body, down to her hips. 

“I told you no gifts,” she protested, but secretly she was happy. Not about the gift, even if she was sure it would be nice, but because he had been as obvious with their client - Mrs. Rosemore - as he was now.

Well, not obvious. A man as… pretty? devilishly handsome? plain old hot? as Magnum was never obvious. But he was, as he’d been for a large chunk of the time she’d known him, unavailable. He’d smile and be nice to women and yet… he was with her now. Even though they hadn’t talked about it, she felt sure of it. Him.

Both as Samantha and Juliet she’d never been especially good at boys, men. She was pretty and athletic enough that she’d never felt too insecure about that part of the equation. Yet the outside...that only got you so far. She'd never had the right...personality, to be the kind of woman who men wanted to date. It didn't help she’d always prioritized other things above flirting, dating. So it wasn’t so much that she was bad at it, she told herself, more that she lacked practice. Yeah. That was it.

Still being with Magnum and knowing that he actually wanted to be with her despite her often less than stellar ability to communicate her feelings, tendency to push him - everyone - away and occasional snapping...that was a terrifying yet wonderful feeling. If someone had told fifteen-year-old Samantha that someone like Thomas Magnum would be her lover twenty years from then... she would never have believed them. 

“So you didn’t get me anything?” he asked, as she rolled them over so she was on top. “Maybe I’ll just have to take your thing back then?”

“I did get you something,” she said, because she had. 

“Really?” he said, “is it edible?”

“Why would it be edible?” She raised an eyebrow as she slid down his body a little, pressing against him, teasing. “Is this about the edible underwear? Because-”

He pulled her down to his chest and kissed her. The kind of kiss that might get you arrested in public. She wondered if perhaps in some states it might even be illegal in private too. 

“Your better not have gotten me edible underwear for a gift Magnum,” she told him once she’d gotten her breath back.

“I didn’t,” he assured her, but she wasn’t so sure, judging by the dark look in his eyes.

But maybe that just had to do with the serious way he went on to make love to her. Slowly, looking into her eyes, yet such intensity. As if he was worried he might not ever get the chance to do it again. 

He knew her body well enough he could tease all sorts of things from her. Bring her so close and then slow it down. It made it all incredibly frustrating...which in turn was made every bit of it feel so erotic.

“Juliet,” he whispered, kissing her softly then brushing his thumb along her lower lip. He held her eyes and even though she was so close all she wanted was to just throw her head back and let go, she didn’t. _Couldn't_ , his gaze was so intent. “I love you.”

* * *

The whole Ohana gang came for Christmas dinner. It was a collaborative effort to get food on the table and the English Christmas pudding she insisted on serving for dessert was probably the most traditional one there.

She didn’t mind. The guys bantered and reminisced over Childhood holidays and the sad Christmas they’d spent at the POW camp. Talked of Christmases at bases across the globe.

Kumu shared some heartwarming stories about volunteering with her husband for many years and even Gordon showed off various pictures of him and his son wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. 

“What about you Higgy?” TC asked. And she felt embarrassed because she didn’t really have any happy holiday stories. She’d spent every year until university at boarding school. She’d never asked - or been asked - to come home during the holidays. Not once during the thirteen years she’d been.

As an adult Christmas had never been something she’d really celebrated. Because it was so much about traditions and memories of childhood, and she barely had any of those. 

She did have one. Of being four and being upset her brother got a model train and fighting with him over it, her father telling them both to stop it and that Charles had to be a good brother and play with her. Of Charles sticking his tongue out at her. Their mother shaking her head at them but smiling as she did so.

It hurt to think of it though. So she searched for another memory to share. Found one possibility. It hadn’t been Christmas exactly, but the start of December - she decided it was close enough. 

“Well, there was this Christmas in Paris,” she said. “But unfortunately, since I was with MI6 at the time, if I tell you the details. Or I’d have to kill you. It was very romantic though.”

“Christmas in Paris?” TC said, nodding. “That does sound nice.”

“Please,” Magnum said, nodding towards the ocean visible from the terrace they were on. “Nothing beats Christmas in Hawaii.”

“I don’t know,” Kumu said, smiling at Juliet. “Were you with Richard?”

She had been. But she didn’t want to talk about Richard. And it wasn’t because it hurt. It didn’t.

Well, it did, but it was a different kind of hurt then it had been when it had been fresh. 

The reason she suddenly regretted bringing it up, wasn’t her own discomfort. It was the slight unsure look flickering across Magnum’s face for a second. He hid it well, but…

This morning, he’d told her he loved her. She hadn’t said it back or mentioned it since. Not because she didn’t want to say it. She did. But it had only been a month. And she was scared that if she actually did love him, told him, what that meant. Everything was so good the way they were.

But maybe it could be even better?

“Yes,” she said, simply. “But Magnum is actually right. Hawaii at Christmas? With family? That’s hard to beat. So, because this has been one hell of a year, I’d actually like to make a toast!"

Nods of approval all around. Glasses and bottles being raised.

She stood. "To prevailing in tough times. To good food and family. Thank you all. Also, Rick, this is the best barbecued turkey I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll take it, even though I suspect it’s first BBQ turkey you’ve ever had,” Rick said cheerfully, and they all clinked glasses.

She held Magnum’s eyes as they did so. And she wished she could tell him.

Tell him that this Christmas was...well, it was quite possibly the best one of her life. Even if she’d had Christmases with friends and even Richard, she’d never truly had it as part of a family. A strange and not at all ordinary family, but family nonetheless. And she had him. 

_Juliet , I love you._

She’d known in some abstract way that he did. But him telling her that was different. Especially since he’d been inside of her and looking her straight in the eye as he did. That kind of intensity… she still wasn’t sure if she could ever figure out how to match it.

* * *

It was later. 

The gang had gone home. 

She and Magnum had lit the fireplace, even though it was far from cold, and the way he did now, he’d pulled her against him as he sat.

It was such a strange thing to her. Touching. And touching for none-sexual purposes. Because that was the difference. Just being close, touching without it having to lead to something, it hadn’t really been anything her and Richard had done much. If it was British-ness or just their personalities she wasn’t sure. 

But Thomas Magnum liked to cuddle! And she found she actually didn’t mind it. 

Especially right then. On Christmas Eve, in front of a fireplace that wasn’t needed for warmth, the clash of waves hitting the beach just audible through the open sliding door, after a wonderful meal with their family.

She could not have imagined a better way to spend Christmas. In fact she was quite sure she’d never experienced one as wonderful as this one. 

“Thomas?”

“Yes?” He sounded sleepy. Not strange since they had both been getting less sleep lately, even if she was sleeping a little better.

“This Christmas...”

“Mmm,” He kissed her shoulder. “What about it?”

“It was...” _The best Christmas I’ve ever had._ She swallowed. “It wasn’t terrible.”

He chuckled. “ _Not terrible._ That’s high praise coming from you.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, turning in his arms. He gave her an inscrutable look. 

“Sometimes I’m sure I do.” He brushed some hair out of her face. “Sometimes I have no idea.”

“I enjoyed it,” she said, because she wanted him to know that. “I really did.”

He smiled that boyish beautiful smile of his. “I did too. But we’re not having Christmas Pudding next year.”

“Okay,” she said and turned back to face the fireplace, leaning against him. She didn’t really care what they ate next Christmas. As long as they spent it with their Ohana and together.

“Okay? Really?”

“Really.”

“No arguing?” he asked, lacing their fingers together. 

“No. No arguing.”

Because for once she felt absolutely no need for it. No need to put up any kind of front or distance herself from him or the world. 

She just wanted to exist in this little perfect Christmas bubble they’d created, where there were no past, no nightmares, he was holding her and everything was just safe and happy.

"Not even if I tell you your Christmas gift is edible underwear?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; Kudos and comments ensure your chances of getting on Santa's 'Nice' list is much higher...


	15. Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is that why you don’t trust me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a little break to write my Christmas fic, also because this gets kind of depressing next chapter and I didn’t feel like that was the right energy for Christmas!
> 
> Also this story is very much snippets out of Magnum and Higgins’ lives. There are days passing, cases being solved and drinks at the bar happening in between. Those things are just not part of this story. Kay?

## -15-

“ _Why couldn’t you just trust me_!” the woman screeched between sobs. 

“ _T_ _ust you! How can you speak about trust when you’re the one cheating on me_ ,” her boyfriend and their client shouted back.

“Mr. Holland if you could just-”

“ _Shut up,_ ” he shouted to Magnum, not even looking their way.

“Excuse me sir,” Juliet said, somehow resisting walking over and slapping the man on the back of the head. “If you would simply pay us the agreed upon amount, check or cash is fine, we will be on our way.”

 _“I’m not cheating on you Larry! I was just meeting my brother_!”

“ _At a motel! How stupid do you think I am? Besides you don’t even have a brother!_ ” 

“ _I think you’re the most stupid most un-trusting idiot in the world and I hate you!_ ” She got up off the sofa and grabbed a small porcelain figurine and threw it at Larry. 

“Should we just leave?” Magnum suggested in a whisper, as tiny shards flew all over. 

“ _And I just reconnected with him! He’s my long lost little brother and you’re a pig for..._ ”

“I guess we might be better off sending an invoice,” she agreed after considering for a moment and another figuring going airborne. 

They retreated while the couple continued to argue. “ _A secret brother! For the love of god how do you come up with these things-_ ”

They closed the door, shutting the couple’s arguing out and headed for the car. 

“It’s kind of sad isn’t it,” she said. “How she was blaming him for not trusting him when she was the one having the affair?” 

“I guess,” he agreed, amiably as they got in the Ferrari. “But I can see why she’d be upset. She felt like we, he, were violating her privacy. Even if she was lying. ”

“Like how you looked up the Samantha thing without even asking me about it first?“ she said dryly as they got into the Ferrari. She hadn’t meant to ever bring that up again. She knew he was sorry and she’d been sorry for keeping it from him. It had just slipped out. 

“Something like that.” He looked like he hadn’t realized the parallel until she pointed it out. “Wait? Is that why you don’t trust me?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, not sure where he could have gotten that from. “I trust you.” _I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone._

“Yeah,” he said, and forced a smile. He didn’t meet her eyes. She could remember him doing that with her...maybe ever. Not like this. “I know you do, I just… Of course you do.” 

He thought she didn’t trust him.

“I realized I never actually said sorry for that,” he said. “I shou-”

“Don’t,” she stopped him. He didn’t think she trusted him. “I lied. About my past, my name. You had the right to be upset.”

“I could have handled it better,” he said.

“No. You handled it so much better than anyone else would have,” she told him and meant it. With his history with Hannah, the fact that it hadn’t even taken him a week to semi-forgive her, had been incredible. 

_He forgave you because he trusts you_ , a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. _Trusts you so much. Much more than you deserve to be trusted_.

Yet… he didn’t think she trusted him.

* * *

The idea of that hung over her for the rest of the day. Going by another client’s house, swinging by La Marianna, watching him cook her something that was supposed to be French but wasn’t (but still fairly edible) and even when she took a hot shower. That was normally the time when she actually managed to let go of her thoughts. 

Not this though. 

Because how could he not know? How could he think she didn’t absolutely trust him?

She knew why. But she didn’t want to accept it. To think that the reason he was doubting her...well it was her refusal to tell him about her nightmare. About Charles’ death. 

It had been hanging over them both in different ways. Her because it still haunted her sleep. Him too because she wouldn’t share what was troubling her. She'd known it did. But not to the point of him actually believing... 

_Is that why you don’t trust me?_

But she did trust him. She hadn’t told him because it wasn't about _him_ , did not concern him. And because she was scared. Of exactly what she wasn’t sure. Him seeing her differently? Yeah. That was it. 

Yet that didn’t really matter. Because it wasn’t about just her. Now it was about _them_ too. It was impacting _their_ relationship. She didn’t want that. What did she want? For the future? She wasn’t sure she just knew it included _them_. Her and Magnum.

So she needed him to know she trusted him. That she loved him too. She still hadn’t told him that. And Christmas was weeks ago now.

No wonder he didn’t think she trusted him.

As she got out of the shower she decided there was no way around it. 

She would have to tell him about the night Charles died. 

Not for her own sake; she didn’t think it would actually help with the nightmares, like she knew he thought. No.

She’d do it for him.

She’d tell him the one thing she’d never planned to tell a living soul. Even if it meant he never quite looked at her the same way again, at least he’d know for sure she trusted him.


	16. I Didn't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry -"  
> “We’re not at the bad part yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I always give Juliet the most traumatic backstories?

## -16 -

“You asleep?” he asked. He knew she wasn’t. Could sense it in her breathing.

Something must be wrong. Because she was still having the nightmares, if less frequently, she was often asleep before her head hit the pillow. Which was a bit of a bummer - but because she now took long showers before bed, he usually took advantage of that and joined her. Because water conservation reasons...

But tonight she wasn’t falling asleep.

“No,” she finally said.

“Me neither,” he said, reaching for her but she slid away from him. 

She sat up, turning so she was sitting cross legged and looking at him. She peered down at him for the longest moment and in the moonlight coming in through the open curtains she looked pale and vaguely ghost like to him. 

“My nanny’s name was Aurelia,” she said, clearly trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, and failing. “She used to read me this book. About a bird trying to figure out what he wanted to do. He went and learned about different jobs. I thought it was fascinating. I made her read it over and over again.”

“Why?” he asked, not sure why that would be interesting to her. Or what it had to do with her being awake. 

“My parents didn't work, not like that. My father ran the estate and a number of businesses and my mother… I don’t know what she did.” She shrugged and stared to toy with the bed sheet. “She used to compete in horse dressage and we had horses so I guess she rode.” 

How different their childhoods had been. He knew that but still. She’d had a nanny. She’d even said _her_ nanny. Did that mean that her brother had had his own? And not only was her father a Viscount - he still wasn’t sure what that meant exactly - but he ran businesse **s,** as in plural. Same with horse **s**. More than one. 

“So was one of the careers spy?” he asked, even though he didn’t want to risk being too flippant and stop her talking, he couldn’t help it. 

“No, but thinking about it, I believe private investigator was.” She actually smiled, but it was so sad it made his heart hurt. “Aurelia was lovely. I still remember her even after all this time.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “I’m not sure how to tell you. Explain it.”

“You don’t have to, you know that right?”

Her lip twitch. “But you want to know. You’re vibrating with it.”

“I’m not,” he said even though he kind of was. But not just because of his curiosity but because of the fact that she was choosing to tell him.

Because she wanted to.

She looked towards the window. “I didn’t truly understand what the gunshots meant. They were burst shots. I’d never heard shots like that, only the kinds from a hunting rifle. My father liked to hunt. Fowl mostly. I’d gone with once and he said I did good, because unlike Charles I didn’t cry about the dead birds. I did cry though, later, when he couldn’t see.”

He figured she was telling him unnecessary details to postpone telling of the actual... trauma, but he found learning these little things about her childhood highly insightful.

“They shot Aurelia. She’d come into my room, to protect me or take me to safety maybe.” She swallowed. “I watched her fall down and she didn’t get back up. I knew she was like the ducks. Dead and never coming back. But I knew, like with my father, the man that had just killed her, would have no use for my tears. So I didn’t cry.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching for her hand. “That’s horrible. Enough to give anyone nightmare-”

“That’s not what...we’re not at the bad part yet,” she said, shaking her head. Shaking off his hand too. 

_Watching your nanny die when you were five wasn’t the bad part?_

“There were only four of them,” she said, thoughtfully. “I always thought there must have been more but there weren’t.” 

“The one that shot Aurelia me took me to my parents quarters. Charles was already there.”

“I didn’t know why they were until much later. Not until I was at MI6. They were just mercenaries, hired to do a job.” She kept on twisting the sheet. Untwisting and twisting. “My father had companies all over the world. Quite a few that dealt with unsavoury characters. One especially ruthless _business_ owner, well, he was the kind that believed in an eye for an eye.”

She paused for such a long time he wasn’t sure she’d keep going. 

“Remember Rowan?” she asked. Of course he did. It hadn’t been that long. “Well, the mercenaries had been told to do that - to my father - by their employer. You see because of my father one of his sons had died.”

“Juliet-” He felt terrified because he suddenly knew how this story went.

“They told my father to make a choice.” She took a deep breath and it sounded shaky, as if she’d been crying almost, though her face was completely tear-free even if it was as pale as he’d ever seen it. “But he wasn't like you. He made a choice.”

“Your father chose your brother to die,” he concluded, not even able to imagine living with that burden.

“No,” she said, meeting his eyes fully for the first time since she started telling the story. “He chose me.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end, last chapter is mostly HEA stuff than anything else. But that's one of the best parts, at least if you ask me!
> 
> Also I hate when companies don't send you proper invoices and then you get a late one with an extra fee and you're like 'why did you not just send me a proper one in the first place! You'd have had your money much sooner and I'd have 5 dollars to waste on a 'Snow' flavored Starbucks drink!'

## -17 - 

_“No,” she said, meeting his eyes terrified but knowing she needed to be looking at him when he realized. “He chose me.”_

She could tell he was confused for a second. The tale abruptly changing just as he’d finally thought he figured it out. A number of emotions; horror, shock, disgust, sadness, anger and confusion to mention a few, flashed across his face. 

In the end, the emotion that won out was pity. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but pity had been pretty high up there. It was a sorry story to be sure. 

Even when she was five years old, as innocent as she’d ever been, as sweet and maybe even lovable, she’d not been the choice her father made. 

They’d both had to live with that. Even if a part of Samantha had died right alongside Charles. Maybe more than a part.

“In a way,” she said, thinking about it, “I think Samantha died that night. That was her real death. It took fifteen years for MI6 to make it official but that night...”

Magnum said nothing, and it worried her. 

“Thomas?”

He didn’t say a word but just pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. He whispered something she couldn’t make out. A curse she thought. Maybe. 

“I almost chose,” he said after a long moment, running his hands along her spine. She realized his thoughts had gone to Rowan. What could have happened that day a few months back. “I almost…”

“But you didn’t,” she assured him, pulling back from the hug to meet his eyes again. “You wouldn’t.”

He gripped her shoulders almost painfully hard. “I’m sorry. God Juliet, I can’t believe your father-”

“It was a long time ago,” she told him because she didn’t want to keep seeing that pity on his face.

“You never told anyone about it?” he asked, his voice suddenly so tense she wondered what new thought had entered his mind.

“No.”

“Did you and your father ever talk about it?” 

She felt an odd sort of desire to laugh at the absurdity of that question. 

Did she ever sit down to have a heart to heart with her father - the Viscount - about how he’d decided he’d loved Charles more than her, that Charles as the heir was more important than, but how he unfortunately had ended up stuck with her? How he’d looked up at her as he held Charles as he bled out with such hate she’d felt he must somehow think she’d planned the whole thing. 

No. They hadn’t talked about it. 

“Did he ever say he was sorry?”

“For picking his heir over the daughter I doubt he wanted in the first place?” she asked sarcastically. “I don’t believe he felt for a moment that was something he was expected to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” She put a hand on his chest, pushing back a little. She didn’t want more pity. And he was either pitying her or he was angry and she couldn't see why it would be the second. It had been almost three decades, nothing to be mad about. Not really. “I told you because I trust you. I never want you to doubt that. Not because I want you to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said, his eyes as dark and dangerous as she’d ever seen them. “I feel furious _for you_.”

And understood then that was where the tenseness had come from, that the look wasn't quite pity but something simmering and upset. Not pity. Since that was the case she stayed in his arms. 

“I’m really glad you told me,” he said, stroking her hair.

“I am too.”

She found that she indeed was. 

Odd. Because even she had though she’d feel sick or maybe not even be able to get the words out, she hadn’t. All she had felt when she finally told all, was a strange sort of relief. It hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d feared.

Things one dreaded sometimes were like that. The fear of them making them larger than they were. 

“Well,” she said, the too serious nature of the past few minutes catching up with her. “It seems I’ve once more kept you up way past your bedtime because of these unfortunate dreams.”

“I can think of worse things than being kept awake by a beautiful woman. Bad dreams or not.” He slid his hand to the nape of her neck. “But I also don’t think you’ll have to worry about them much longer.”

“You think me telling you, just solve it all? Makes the nightmares stop?” she asked, not harshly but genuinely curious if he actually thought so. Because even though she felt relieved which she hadn’t expected, that didn’t mean she was suddenly free of whatever was causing the nightmares.

“I do,” he whispered and pressed his forehead to hers, so close, looking into her eyes, their breath mingling together. “I really do.”

She smiled because right then she realized it didn’t matter that she didn’t believe it.

He did.

And that felt like it was enough to make it true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new years everyone! Let's just hope this one is better than 2020...


	18. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Magnum.” She reached for his hand.  
> “Yes?”  
> “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up with a few snippets of things I’ve wanted to use for fics but couldn’t quite fit in, and I wanted a happy-dream ending but I'm not 100% sure I'm happy with how it turned out but it's still giving me enough good fluffy feels to end 2021 on!

## \- 18 -

Magnum was relieved he was right. Well, he’d been sort of right, because even though the nightmares did stopped it didn't happen overnight. For a while they still came, every other night, every third, once a week. She woke up and so did he and every time he’d be worried he’d been over confident.

But as he’d hoped, her actually trusting someone with the thing that was twisting her up, had really changed things. Let her begin to process and maybe heal from them. If that was possible.

He wasn’t smug about it. He might have been, if he somehow hadn’t ended up with nightmares of his very own. Mixes of what they’d experienced with Rowan and the re-told memory of Charles’ death. 

Only, sometimes, it wasn’t him watching or being given the choice on who was to die. Sometimes, it was him that held the gun. Sometimes he was the one pointing it at five year old Juliet...Samantha. That was the most terrible one. Somehow both being terrified and being the thing you were terrified of. 

“I thought all your nightmares were about labyrinths,” she’d whispered to him when he’d told her. 

“I thought so too.”

For a while he’d almost felt like they’d just somehow managed to transfer her nightmares to him. Since he could fall asleep again after he’d actually have been fine with that. As horrifying as they were, he’d rather he have them than her. 

When he’d tried to explain that to her she’d been annoyed with him and told him, “I’m dating Thomas Magnum, not the bloody White Knight.” 

That has amused him tremendously.

* * *

Then suddenly a month had passed; no bad dreams for either one of them. They celebrated with drinks on the beach. Watching the sunset. They’d been talking about going to England. Or maybe Texas, to see his uncle. Once the world was back to normal, of course. 

She worried they might drive each other crazy on a trip. And not in the good, normal way they did that.

“We won’t,” he assured her as she leaned against him. He loved it when she did that. “Though, if we go to England, I might just break your father’s nose if we see him.” And maybe an arm or leg. Or both.

She’d laughed at that, like she didn’t actually think he would and reminded him that her father thought Samantha was dead. 

* * *

*Juliet*

* * *

He looked so happy and sure and beautiful when he smiled at her. And sitting on the warm sand with him, knowing this beautiful place was her home, that she doing something with her unique skill set that helped people and she was doing it with him… it made her feel like she might truly be a lucky woman, despite everything that had happened in her life, because right then, it was perfect. 

In a good non-ominous way. Perfect in a way that meant even on bad days, she was happy. Or maybe perfect in an imperfect way, because the Gods knew neither her or Magnum were anything close to perfect.

Except they were. Perfect yet totally imperfect. 

“Magnum.” She reached for his hand.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He smiled wider. “You do?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You knew that.”

“I didn’t. I might have suspected-”

“You knew,” she insisted. Because she wanted him to have known. She wanted him to have realized it before she’d even done so herself, months ago, back before her dreams had even started.

“Maybe,” he said, grinning before pulling her to him and kissing her. 

He’d known, she decided, how could he not have?

* * *

But after she wasn’t so sure he had, because as soon as she’d finally said it, he started telling her all the time. She’d never had anyone tell her they loved her once a day before. Even in the mist of arguing about something, he'd occasionally just go, “I love you.” 

In the beginning that had surprised her so much he usually won the arguments. She’d tried doing it right back.

That didn’t work as well. He just said “I know,” and went right back to arguing. Bastard.

Yet she was glad he did that. Because it meant being told he was loved wasn’t a shock. It was to her. Almost every time he said it she felt this jolt of surprise and happiness. 

* * *

“It’s not a ring,” he told her. “But I know you’re much fonder of necklaces anyway. And you spoke very strongly about the diamond trade being a big scam so I figure this was better.”

“That is seriously the way you’re asking me?” she asked, not sure this was the right time.

“What’s wrong with it?” he said as a bullet clanged into the SUV they were hiding behind. She fired a shot around the side, and finally hit the guy in the leg, making him topple over.

“So many things,” she told him and kissed him. “Yes. I’ll wear your dog tags.”

“And marry me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. If you learn to behave!” 

“Behave?” he said as sirens wailed in the background. “What fun would that be?”

_No fun at all._

* * *

She was looking at baby clothes. Not because she felt ready to have a baby. Babies were big commitments. They were noisy and needy and not compatible with their PI lifestyle. She knew that. 

And yet sometimes now, when they saw a toddler or a stroller, they’d both look at it and then each other. Smile. One day that was something they both wanted. 

So she was looking because it was...a lovely possibility. So she smiled at tiny jumpsuits with bears and elephants. Lingered at a baseball themed onesie. Would buying it be crazy? Probably.

“ _Juliet_?” a woman’s voice said behind her.

She turned, unsure who might know her, might call her name, in the baby section of a store. 

“ _Abby_?” she said, surprised to see the woman that had half-broken Magnum’s heart two years ago. “ _You're back in Hawaii?_ ”

“ _I’m visiting some friends_ ,” she said, smiling tensely as she gleaned around and seemed to realize where she was. _“It’s good to see you_.”

“ _Yes, you too_ ,” Juliet agreed, even though she wasn’t sure if it was. Also wondering if she should put the baseball onesie back or if that would just draw more attention to it. “ _How’ve you been?_ ”

“ _Focusing on establishing my new practice_.” The brunette shrugged. “ _You and Magnum still working together?_ ”

“ _Yes. No. I mean... yes, we do._ ” She reached up to touch the little metal square she now always wore.

“ _You're together_ ,” Abby said and when Juliet nodded, she continued with just the faintest hint of emotion in her voice. “ _I always knew it was him and you. It was how he looked at you. Like he’d kill or die for you.”_

“ _He would_.” He had. 

“ _You should get that_ ,” Abby said, suddenly, nodding to the onesie in Juliet's hand. “ _He’d love it._ "

" _I know._ "

* * *

“Bad dream?” he asked when she woke up with a start.

“No,” she said, “No. Quite the opposite. I was shopping..." She decided not to mention in what section. "And then Abby showed up. ”

“Abby?”

She smiled at his attempt to play dumb. “Abby Mills - your ex-girlfriend who broke your heart?”

“Right,” he said, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against her shoulder. “That Abby. She didn't break my heart.”

“She bruised it a bit.”

"I thought you didn't believe in broken hearts? What happened to whole _if my heart was broken, I'd actually be dead_?” he whispered, even though he seemed more interested in kissing his way up her neck. She knew where he was headed, that little spot beneath her left ear that drove her crazy. 

“I stand by that. That expression, _mmm_ , makes no sense,” she manged, before surrendering to the feel of his lips on her skin. 

After, she pondered what the dream might mean some more, but in the end, she decided it didn't matter. Some dreams - or nightmares - did mean something. Were trying to tell you something. Make you realize a problem, share a truth, burden or desire. Other dreams were just dreams and once morning came, you could barely remember what they were even about. Only that they'd made you oddly happy and excited for a new day to start.

.

.

.

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the New Year!
> 
> I'm having laser-eye surgery next week, so while I got a one-shot or two I'm working on and might have time to post, I'll probably not be very active in the coming few weeks as I'm healing and will have to limit screen time to work and school probably.


End file.
